


5 AUs that Didn’t Get Draco and Harry Together (+1 that Did)

by parseltonquinq



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'I accidentally broke into your apartment instead of my friend's', 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Wrong Number AU, saying 'I love you' to the pizza guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parseltonquinq/pseuds/parseltonquinq
Summary: The second he opens his eyes, Harry knows he is fucked.Also that he has fucked up.His head is pounding, his tongue tastes like bile and alcohol, his body is aching, and Hot Coffee Shop Guy is standing above him, looking equal parts bewildered and unamused. Harry gulps as he realizes Hot Coffee Shop Guy is only wearing a pair of sweatpants.A body like that should be illegal. Featuring a high school AU, a pizza guy AU, a wrong number AU, a coffee shop AU, an accidental break-in AU, and a fake boyfriend AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this is unedited because it was just a piece I had a bit of fun writing :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @parseltonquinq

I. 

Harry slams his locker shut behind him as he hikes his bag higher onto his shoulder. His head is throbbing, his back and neck ache, and he finds himself wondering what the point of high school truly is. To him, it seems like purgatory.

Four years with the same teachers, the same school, and the same peers does that to a person, he figures. It’s impossible not to get weary.

He doesn’t speak to many people outside the group of friends he made in freshman year. In fact, half the time he sees one of his peers, he can’t remember which grade they’re in, much less their name. He’s too busy focusing on his studies, usually—the Dursleys certainly aren’t going to pay for his college tuition so he’s shooting for a scholarship.

He’s so immersed in his thoughts that he doesn’t look before turning a corner. His head smacks into that of someone else as his books fall, landing directly on both his and the other person’s feet. At the exact same time, they swear, then kneel down to grab their books, smashing their heads together. Harry loses his balance and swipes out with his arms, attempting to grab onto something, when hands fist in the front of his shirt and yank him forward again. The scent of cologne hits his nostrils and he blinks against it—it’s on the verge of being too strong.

“Fuck—I should’ve—my books— _your_ books—I’m so sorr— _are you okay?_ ” The other guy is rambling, still holding onto Harry’s shirt. He has worried gray eyes and pale blond hair.

“Yeah, _yeah_ ,” Harry shakes his head—it’s still aching from its collision with the blond guy’s—and kneels down to help the blond guy pick up his books. “Sorry, I didn’t even see you.”

The blond guy waves him off, then stands, rearranging the books in his arms. Harry raises soon after, tucking his pen behind his ear. Now not only is he in even more pain, but a pale, gazelle of a boy is red-faced and massaging his skull. He looks familiar and Harry wonders if he’s a senior too. He assumes so—the boy is about half an inch taller than Harry.

“Is…er…does it hurt?” Harry asks clumsily. Immediately, he wants to smack himself. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question—of course it hurts.” He can feel his cheeks heating up. “Would…do you want me to walk you to the nurse or something?”

The boy is watching Harry bumble with a small smile. He shakes his head, then readjusts his grip on his books. “Thanks, but I have to get to a club meeting. My head’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Harry says, nodding. “Well, have fun. I’m sorry…again.”

The boy laughs. “Don’t worry. It was a joint effort.”

He waves, then makes his way down the hallway, graceful and purposeful. Harry shakes his head, wondering why he hadn’t asked for the boy’s name, then sighs and drags himself to the parking lot.

He doesn’t cross paths with him for the rest of the school year. They exchange a small smile during graduation, but that’s it.

Harry soon forgets about it.

 

* * *

 

II. 

Draco drops his pen and shakes his hand out, attempting to soothe the ache in his muscles. He’s been studying for hours, poring over his textbooks, writing and rewriting his notes out, and is in dire need of a break.

His stomach gives an almost comical growl.

“Might as well order some dinner,” he mutters to himself, reaching across his desk to grab his phone.

As he scrolls through his contacts, looking for his favorite pizza joint, he stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes open. His entire body feels heavy, but he can’t afford to sleep yet. He brings his phone up to his ear and stifles yet another yawn.

“ _Molly’s Pizza_ , how can I help you?” A bored, drawling voice picks up the phone.

“Er, I’d like to place an order for delivery,” Draco says.

“All right. What can I get you?”

“A, uh, a personal pan pepperoni pizza, please, and an order of breadsticks.”

Draco hears scribbling from the other side of the line. He stifles yet another yawn, blinking away the tears it brings to his eyes. He wonders if it would be too terrible if he were to take a short nap.

“Address?” The guy asks. Draco gives it, now bouncing his leg up and down in an attempt to keep himself awake. “Great, your total’s $11.83. Your pizza should be there shortly.”

“Thanks,” Draco says, his eyelids heavy. “Love you.”

He instantly freezes, his eyes going wide and his heart beginning to jackhammer. _What was wrong with him? He just told the pizza guy he loved him._ The line is silent for a bit until Draco picks up laughter, obviously attempting to be stifled. From the other line, he can hear someone yelling.

“ _Harry_ … _laughing at customers…inappropriate…off the ground…so help me...”_

Eventually, after what feels like hours of Draco sitting in his chair, mortified, his phone frozen to his face, the guy he assumes to be Harry manages to gain his composure.

“I am so sorry,” Draco starts once the laughing ceases.

This only earns him a chuckle. “Don’t worry. Love you too.”

And _wow_ , Draco doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he had just told him he loved him or if Draco was simply romance-starved, but _Harry has a hot voice_. The room suddenly feels too warm and he shifts in his seat, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Er, thank you,” he practically mumbles. “I, uh, I have to go.”

“Right,” Harry says, amusement in his voice. “Well, thanks for absolutely making my week. Have a good evening, babe.”

Then he hangs up, leaving Draco with wide eyes, a slack jaw, and a giddy feeling in his chest. For all he knows, Harry’s a fifty-year-old man stuck in a dead-end job, but Draco pictures him differently. He pictures blue eyes and brown hair. Or black hair. Maybe a leather jacket.

“You’re going insane,” Draco chides himself, shaking himself out of his reverie and picking up his pen again.

The next time he calls, about a week later, someone named Fred picks up instead. Draco tries not to be disappointed.

 

* * *

 

III.

Harry is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly _not drunk_.

He blinks blearily at his phone screen as he pulls it out of his pocket, wondering why there were so many screens in his vision. He focuses for a bit, then grins triumphantly when they slowly merge together to form one.

He _knew_ he wasn’t drunk.

Carefully, he opens up his camera app, being extra cautious with his new phone, then pulls his shirt up, holding the hem between his teeth.

“Harry,” Seamus slurs beside him, sounding as if he were on the verge of laughter, “ _what’re_ you _doing?_ ”

“Ron said working at _Molly’s_ made me ‘plump’ so I’m proving a point.” He wonders if he’s speaking too loudly.

“Why would he say that?” Seamus sounds offended on Harry’s behalf. “That’s so rude.”

Harry looks up from his phone, where he was inputting Ron’s phone number into the message bar. “I know,” Harry slurs. “What a dick.”

“What a dick,” Seamus agrees, taking another sip of his drink.

Harry sends the message to Ron, feeling quite pleased with himself.

He doesn’t look at his phone again until the next morning, which he greets with a copious amount of swearing and lots of coffee and Advil. Once his headache is mostly gone and he’s eaten far too many Hot Pockets than he’d care to admit to, he grabs his phone from the pocket of his jeans, strewn about on the floor next to his bed.

He has a few text messages from Ron—he has to remember to actually input Ron’s phone number into his contacts, rather than relying upon his memory to keep it safe.

The messages read:

_[I’m not sure who Eon is…I think you have the wrong number.]_

_[Nice abs. Plump is the last word I’d use to describe you. 10/10.]_

_[Also assuming I’m correct and you’re drunk, go drink water. You’ll thank me.]_

Harry reads through the messages a couple of times, his cheeks warm, before groaning in mortification. _He had texted a complete stranger_. Running his fingers through his hair, Harry gathers the courage to reply.

[I am so sorry I thought u were my friend ron]

The reply comes in less than a minute.

_[Ah. I did think Eon was an odd name. Ron makes more sense. Don’t worry about it. It was an amusing study break.]_

Harry finds himself grinning.

[I’m glad I was able to help.]

_[How’s the head?]_

[better now. I’ve accepted coffee as my lord and savior.]

The stranger sends two laughing-crying emojis.

[hey don’t judge]

_[I’m not judging. I’ve definitely been there.]_

_[I recommend laying in bed and watching The Great British Bake Off_ _all day.]_

Harry raises a brow and leans back against his pillows, getting more comfortable. He doesn’t stop to think about how odd it is that he’s having a conversation with a complete stranger as if he’s known them his entire life.

[what’s the great british bake off]

The stranger sends three shocked emojis.

_[Only the most pure show in the entire world.]_

_[Now you have no choice. You’re watching The Great British Bake Off today. Sorry I don’t make the rules.]_

Harry grins again. He’s about to respond when he gets another message.

_[I actually have to get to class.]_

_[In the future, I’d recommend not texting pictures of your body to anyone whilst drunk.]_

_[Have a nice day, hot stranger.]_

Harry’s heartbeat quickens and he finds himself smiling stupidly at his phone. He types back his reply.

[u too weirdly kind stranger. thanks for making my day.]

He receives a smiley face emoji.

They don’t pick up the conversation again and Harry lets the drunken mishap become a story amongst he and his friends.

He does, however, end up watching The Great British Bake Off. The stranger was right—it was the most pure show he had ever seen.

 

* * *

 

IV. 

Draco wishes the shop weren’t so slow. Blaise is in the back room, most likely scrolling through Tumblr or Buzzfeed, and he’s stuck manning the counter. To pass time, he doodles on the sides of cups, intricate designs in red, blue, and black pen ink.

There are a few people in the shop, reading or typing away at laptops, and he finds himself relaxed by the atmosphere. Some indie band plays over the speakers and he bops his head to the beat, switching pen colors and adding more detail to his doodle.

He looks up as the bell on the door chimes and feels his mouth go dry.

The customer has tousled black hair that’s longer on the top, swept out of his eyes. _His eyes_. They’re vibrant green and framed with long, dark lashes and thick brows, tucked behind Ray-Ban glasses. His jaw is stronger than Draco’s wifi connection and his cheekbones could cut diamonds. He looks utterly careless in a leather jacket, t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

Draco wants to climb him like a tree.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Draco asks when the guy approaches, hoping his cheeks aren’t too red.

Green eyes meet Draco’s then scan him, down, then back up. Draco’s pulse accelerates. A small smile spreads across the guy’s face. He looks familiar, somehow, but Draco _knows_ he would remember someone as attractive as this guy. His face isn’t one that Draco would forget easily.

“Can I get an Americano and…” the guy steps back once, his eyes scanning the food case. Draco tries not to stare. He fails. Green eyes meet his again. “What would you recommend?” He asks, an easy grin on his lips.

“Er…” Draco chews on the inside of his cheek. He can feel the guy’s gaze on him. “The croissants are good. Really good, actually. I could even heat it up for you if you’d like.”

“That would be great,“ the guy’s eyes drop down to his name tag, “Draco.”

His own name sounds utterly sinful rolling off the hot guy’s tongue and Draco never wants to hear anything else, ever again.

“Your total is $6.39.” Draco grabs the nearest cup as the guy pulls out his wallet. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

Draco is reminded briefly of the employee at _Molly’s Pizza_ named Harry. He smiles slightly, now over the embarrassment of that night, then pushes it out of his mind. He has a tangible hot Harry in front of him right now.

When Harry hands him the money, their fingers brush and Draco feels butterflies being released in his stomach. He shakily gives Harry his change and _wow okay Harry just brushed his fingers against Draco’s again. That was definitely not an accident._ Draco is sure he’s blushing profusely and takes comfort in the fact that the tips of Harry’s ears are pink.

“I’ll, er, I’ll get your order ready,” Draco stammers, his hands shaky. His heart is pounding.

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him as he puts the croissant in the toaster and as he makes the coffee. With his back turned to Harry, he takes a chance, writing his name and phone number on the side of the cup, right below Harry’s name.

Draco presents the coffee and croissant to Harry, wondering if the shop was too warm or if it was just him.

“Here you go. Have a nice day,” Draco says, hoping his face isn’t too red.

“Thanks. You too.”

Before he leaves, Harry grabs a cup sleeve and _oh, just perfect, it’s covering Draco’s number_. He shoots Draco one last grin before heading out the door. Draco totally doesn’t check out his ass as he walks away.

Nope.

Not even a little bit.

 

* * *

 

V.

The second he opens his eyes, Harry knows he is fucked.

Also that he has fucked up.

His head is pounding, his tongue tastes like bile and alcohol, his body is aching, and Hot Coffee Shop Guy is standing above him, looking equal parts bewildered and unamused. Harry gulps as he realizes Hot Coffee Shop Guy is only wearing a pair of sweatpants.

A body like that should be illegal.

He racks his brain, attempting to remember his name. Harry remembers it was unusual and he remembers that he liked saying it. He wants to say Draino, but that’s ridiculous. Dray? Drake? Drayo? _Draco_.

Harry clears his throat, squinting up at Draco, wondering what he was doing in Ron’s apartment. He takes a look at his surroundings and feels his stomach drop. The room he’s in has the same structure as Ron’s, but different wall colors and furnishings. It’s also much neater.

“So,” Harry says, his throat rough and scratchy, “I think it’s safe to say I made some bad decisions last night.”

He follows Draco’s line of sight to his apartment window. It’s pushed up and a couple of books on a table beside it are laying on the floor. There is a fire escape, just like Ron’s apartment, though the view outside the window seems off.

Harry realizes, with a groan, that he climbed one floor too high.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, massaging the bridge of his nose, “I’m one floor too high.” He looks up at Draco, who now looks slightly amused. “I meant to break into my friend Ron’s apartment. He’s right below you.”

“I know Ron,” Draco says with an almost-smile. “He’s hard to miss. Do you break into your friends’ apartments often?” Draco cocks a perfectly-arched brow.

Harry feels a blush crawl up his neck and he shrugs. He’s sure he looks absolutely horrible. He knows from experience that hungover is not a good look on him. And to think he had been planning on going back to the coffee shop to ask Draco for his number. That was absolutely not happening anymore.

“Just Ron’s.” Harry pushes himself up, running his fingers through his hair and wincing at the pain in his neck. “Well, this is an awkward coincidence.”

Draco smiles, finally, and rubs the back of his neck.

He is disgustingly, astronomically hot and Harry really can’t deal with it. He has to avert his gaze and fight not to take in the pale expanse of Draco’s skin. He is literally flawless.

“Well, do you want coffee or tea or something?” Draco turns to walk toward the kitchen counter. Harry drags his gaze away from Draco’s ass.

“A guy breaks into your apartment and you offer him coffee?” Harry asks, incredulous and amused.

“Are you complaining?”

He does have a point. “A coffee would be great, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

Harry takes a moment to look around the apartment, his eyes scanning over everything. Draco has lots of books and succulents, as well as a plethora of blankets and pillows. There are three throws hanging over the back of the couch Harry is sitting on, another on an armchair, one folded up on a barstool, and a few hanging out of a chest. Harry catches himself smiling.

“It’s so much neater here than in Ron’s apartment,” Harry remarks. “I’m not sure how I didn’t realize I was in the wrong apartment last night.”

“I’m sure you were pretty out of it.”

Draco walks back over to him, a mug of coffee in each hand. Upon handing Harry his mug, he also presents him with two Advils.

“You are a saint,” Harry proclaims.

“I try.”

“I’m surprised you’re so chill with this,” Harry says after he’s taken the Advil. “I could literally be a serial killer and you just made me coffee.”

Draco shrugs. “You’re friends with Ron, right? He seems like a good guy. I trust his judgment.” Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. “That doesn’t mean you can climb into my apartment at all hours of the night, however,” Draco says with a grin. “I’m drawing the line.”

“That’s fair,” Harry agrees with a nod. “I’ll find a different stranger’s couch to crash on next time.”

Draco snorts softly. “You must have a death wish.”

He really is way too hot, Harry muses. It’s completely unfair. He wants to lean forward and kiss him or ask him to slam him against a wall or something. _Anything._ He wants to run his lips against that damn jaw. He wants his fingers to be in that silky hair. He wants to watch him make coffee and listen to him talk.

He’s _fucked_.

Harry grins. “Something like that.”

After they finish their coffee, Harry helps him wash the mugs. The silence between them isn’t deafening. Rather, it’s comfortable.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and ruffling his hair, “thank you very much for not calling the cops on me. Also, for making me coffee.”

“No problem,” Draco says, smiling. “Let’s just not make a habit of this.”

“Gotcha.”

Harry grins at him once more before walking out the door. His head still aches, but he feels significantly better with coffee and Advil in his system. He decides to raid Ron’s fridge as soon as he gets to his apartment. His stomach gives a growl of agreement.

He finds it difficult to forget about Draco.

 

* * *

 

**(+1 that Did)**

VI. 

“Ginny says one of her friends is single so he can pretend to be your boyfriend. She said he’s a ten,” Pansy says, reapplying her lipstick.

“Ginny is a lesbian,” Draco states matter-of-factly.

“Just because she doesn’t _buy_ art doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate it.”

Draco inclines his head in agreement. “I’ll give you that. So is he going to meet us at the restaurant?”

Pansy nods. “He’s on his way with Gin now.”

“Perfect.”

Draco has reached a new low. Pansy has talked to her boss, Mr. Fudge, about Draco being an asset to their company and he has a possible job lined up. The only problem is he needs to look as if he really has his life together. Pansy insisted that it would look better if Draco looked as if he were in a serious relationship. According to her, it would demonstrate his ability to commit and problem-solve.

Draco’s not sure if he agrees with her, but he trusts her judgment.

The only problem is that Draco is single. He had considered going downstairs to Ron’s apartment and asking for Harry’s number, but decided against it. He and Harry were already on strange terms. Having his apartment broken into isn’t necessarily the grounds for a stable relationship. He figures that if he were to ask Harry to pretend to be his boyfriend, any possibility of the two of them getting together would diminish.

Draco slicks his hair back and straightens his tie. When the car pulls up in front of the restaurant, he can already see Ginny, her bright red hair twisted into an intricate up-do. Standing beside her, in a form-fitting black suit…

“Oh, you’ve got to be _joking_ ,” Draco mutters, his eyes widening.

“What?” Pansy draws her brows together worriedly. “He’s hot.”

“That’s the hot coffee shop guy. The one who broke into my apartment.”

“You mean the one you won’t shut up about?” Pansy smiles smugly. “I think you should take this as a sign.”

“Did Ginny tell him he would be pretending to be _my_ boyfriend?” Draco demands, wondering how he looks.

Harry looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine. His dark hair is slicked back also and the suit accentuates his broad shoulders and slim hips.

Pansy shakes her head. “She only asked him to do her a favor. Apparently he owes her for something involving a kiddie pool, 24 cans of whipped cream, and her neighbor’s dog.” Upon seeing Draco’s face, Pansy adds, “I didn’t ask.”

The valet opens their doors and Draco straightens out his suit, hoping to god he doesn’t make a fool of himself. He still hasn’t fully processed the fact that he’s coming face-to-face with Harry again.

He just hopes he’s able to make a good impression upon his possible boss.

Draco can see the exact moment Harry recognizes him. His eyes—those _fucking eyes_ —widen and a grin slowly stretches across his face. Draco’s heart stutters at the sight of that grin. He takes pride in the fact that he sees it so often and that it tends to be directed toward himself.

“Well, well, well,” Harry says as Draco approaches. “I should’ve figured.”

Draco ducks his head and wets his lips. “I can’t seem to get away from you.”

“Is that a complaint?” It comes out teasingly, but Harry’s eyes are searching Draco’s.

“More like gratitude.” Draco’s stomach flips at the sight of that 100-watt smile again. “You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you,” he adds.

“I’d hope so,” Harry says. “I looked like roadkill the last time we crossed paths.”

Draco wants to protest. Harry’s hair had been messy and he had looked disheveled, but it was _so hot_. He looked like a rockstar. It had taken every bit of Draco’s will not to drag Harry to his bedroom.

He _had_ smelled a bit, though.

“I’m surprised you need a fake boyfriend,” Harry remarks. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who needs trouble in that department.”

Draco raises a brow and ignores the warmth that spreads throughout his chest. He hopes his cheeks aren’t too red. “And why is that?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to blush. “Well, for starters, you look like a goddamn _model_ .” He says so unapologetically, as if it’s merely a fact of life. “Not to mention you’re smart, funny, can make _really good_ coffee…”

Draco is practically beaming. His cheeks feel hot and he knows for a fact that he’s blushing. There’s no avoiding it.

“Well, I don’t see how you’re single either, so I suppose we’re even,” Draco admits.

Harry chuckles. “I guess so.” He looks thoughtful.

Mr. Fudge arrives with his wife and they are all seated shortly. Pansy keeps the conversation flowing smoothly and Harry is completely charming, surprising laughs out of Mr. Fudge and his wife. Harry weaves a story of he and Draco being high school sweethearts, keeping his arm on the back of Draco’s chair. Draco couldn’t have asked for a better fake boyfriend, in all honesty.

He just wishes it weren’t fake.

By the end of the night, Draco is feeling very hopeful about the job. Mr. Fudge shakes his hand firmly, with a smile, and says he hopes to see Draco very soon. Pansy gives him a thumbs-up.

“My place for drinks?” Draco offers, not wanting the night to be over yet. The other three agree and they all share a cab.

Upon unlocking his door and letting the three of them in, Draco smiles at Harry. “Welcome back.”

Ginny and Pansy start laughing and Harry grins sheepishly.

“I still can’t believe you made him coffee,” Ginny cackles, stepping out of her heels. “He wouldn’t shut up about that stupid coffee for days.”

“It was the best coffee I’ve ever had,” Harry states.

“You always manage to get yourself into strange situations,” Ginny remarks. She flops down on Draco’s couch and Pansy settles down beside her, leaning into her side. Draco pours them each a glass of wine and Harry helps him pass it out.

Harry shrugs. “What can I say? I attract trouble.”

“That you do,” Pansy agrees.

Draco sits on the floor, at the coffee table, and feels his heart soar when Harry lowers himself down beside him. He finds himself missing the small touches Harry had given during the dinner. He knows it was an act, but can’t help but mourn the loss.

“Do you work tomorrow?” Pansy asks Harry.

He shakes his head. “Fred’s got it.”

“Oh, where do you work?” Draco inquires.

“ _Molly’s Pizza_.” Harry takes a sip of the wine. “It’s this pizza joint around the block.”

Draco laughs. “That’s my favorite. I used to order delivery from there all the time a few months ago.”

“I love call-ins.” Harry grins. “Did you know I once had this guy tell me he loved me? I was cracking up for the longest time—Molly had to yell at me to stop.”

Draco’s jaw threatens to drop. His eyes widen as realization hits. Harry was _Harry_. “Oh my god that was me.”

“What?” Harry looks confused.

“I was sleep-deprived. I ordered a pepperoni pizza and breadsticks. You told me you loved me back, then called me ‘babe’.” His heart is pounding and a smile is slowly stretching over his face.

Harry’s jaw drops. “Oh my god.” He bursts out laughing and Draco can’t help but join in. Pansy and Ginny are laughing too.

“I was mortified,” Draco says.

Harry pats his back comfortingly, not laughing anymore, but still grinning. “Don’t worry. I have embarrassing phone stories too.”

Ginny snorts. “Remember when you sent that picture to a complete stranger? The one meant for Ron?”

Harry instantly blushes and ducks his head, chuckling. “He was actually really nice though, so I consider it a win. He got me into The Great British Bake Off.”

“No way,” Draco says, shaking his head and smiling. “You’re joking.”

He isn’t willing to believe that Harry is also the hot drunken stranger. That would be too weird.

“I have proof,” Harry insists. “I saved the messages.”

He opens up the messages app on his phone, then shows it to Draco. Draco feels his stomach drop and he feels as if electricity is running through his veins. He doesn’t say anything, just opens up his own phone and shows the messages to Harry.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Ginny says with a laugh. “Guys, I think the universe is trying to tell you something.”

Harry is watching him like he can’t believe Draco’s real. Honestly, Draco finds it hard to believe that this isn’t all some hoax. He is certain that this is more than a coincidence. He finds himself agreeing with Ginny.

“At least you don’t need to exchange numbers,” Pansy points out.

“I don’t think it would be wise to ignore the universe,” Harry says with a grin. His eyes are twinkling and he’s beaming.

“No,” Draco agrees, “it wouldn’t.”

His focus seems to center upon Harry, everything else drifting away, wholly unimportant. His skin is buzzing and his face is warm. He's looking and Harry and _oh god_ Harry is looking back.

Draco doesn’t know who kisses who, just that one moment he’s wondering _how the fuck someone’s eyes can be so green_ and the next his eyes are closed and his mouth is moving against Harry’s. His entire body heats up and his pulse accelerates and his entire body is tingling with energy. He can distantly hear Pansy and Ginny’s voices, then the sound of a door, but ignores them.

Harry’s fingers are twisting in his hair and his mouth is so warm. He tastes like wine and something musky that Draco can only describe as _Harry_ . Draco reaches up and runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, just as he’s always wanted to, and strokes along his jaw. _That fucking jaw_.

They pull back panting, then look into each other’s eyes. Slowly, they both smile. Draco feels like he’s flying.

“Do you maybe want to go out sometime?” Harry asks, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Absolutely,” Draco says immediately, earning a laugh from Harry.

“Thank god,” Harry says.

Then he leans in again and Draco loses all hope of thinking coherently.

He certainly isn’t complaining.


End file.
